“I was told a young man with a black ponytail was headed this way. You seen him?”

The bartender rested her elbows on the bar, leaning forward as she lowered her voice. “Black ponytail? Yeah, a guy like that came in maybe half an hour ago. He some kind of bandit?”

Daf pursed his lips, casting a quick glance behind him. “Pirate.”

Her eyes widened. “Out here?”

He nodded, hoping to avoid the details. “It’s a small ship.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll be fine as long as you’re taking care of it.” She smiled. Apparently, news of Daf’s failure hadn’t made it out here yet.

He sighed. “Did you see him leave?”

“Don’t think so, but I wasn’t really watching for him. Coulda gone upstairs, too…” She glanced over her shoulder at a staircase, just as a patron hurried up the rickety steps and disappeared into the ceiling. “I’ll shout if he pops up.”

“Thanks.”

The bartender stood straight and nodded to the rum barrels lined up behind her. “You want anything this evening?”

He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Daf turned around, scanning the room. The smell of rum and smoke had long since soaked the wooden walls; if there was anywhere in Tarriva pirates might loiter, this seemed like the place. Dusty faces and worn clothes moved in and out of the dim yellow light, but none of them resembled Kas’ description, however sparse that description was. Of course, anyone else from the Starwatch could be here too, and Daf would be none the wiser. The ship hadn’t been around this continent long enough to make itself a well-known threat.

A grating voice cut through the chattering hum just before Daf’s eyes landed on its equally-grating source. “Carter has some nerve, coming round here again,” a tall, stocky man drawled. His eyes focused on Daf’s long enough to say that he knew Daf was listening, before they turned back to the people gathering around him.

Daf clenched his fists. Two days ago, Buck Wesson wouldn’t have been able to phase him—nor would anyone else. He was here for a pirate, he would leave with a pirate, and his legend would grow in his wake.

But that wasn’t what had happened the night before, and the ghostly paper on which that legend was written suddenly seemed awfully easy to tear.

Someone in the room spoke up, “You have some nerve insulting him, Wesson.” A few other voices muttered in agreement, causing Buck’s scowl to deepen.

Here for a pirate. Not a bar fight. He turned away.

The bartender’s voice called, “Sheriff Carter, look out-”

A finger tapped his shoulder.

Daf spun around, and was hit with a pair of startlingly bright silver-gray eyes. It wasn’t just the uncommon color that threw him off, but the way they almost seemed to look through him instead of at him.

“Sheriff Carter,” the young man addressed him with a nod. He brushed a ponytail of wavy black hair over his shoulder, as if that said everything it needed to.

It took Daf a second to place the feeling of rage that boiled up his throat, and in that time, the man had taken a large step back, narrowly avoiding the reach of Daf’s hand.

The man gave him a smile that was closer to a baring of teeth than a show of friendliness. “You were asking for me?” he asked.

Uniform white teeth. Long, well-kept hair. Pale skin, small frame, tenor voice.

He really didn’t look like a pirate.

“There’s no way you came strolling in here alone,” Daf said in disbelief.

The pirate shrugged. “That’s exactly what I did in Hashton.”

The comment actually comforted Daf—it at least confirmed that he was missing something. Maybe this time, he’d find it and save his career.

“I’d like to discuss a truce between your town and my ship,” the pirate said. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he found the idea funny.

Daf wasn’t going to play games. “If it’s funny to you, it’s funny to me,” he said humorlessly, stepping forward.

The pirate stepped back. “My crew really hasn’t done anything to you, you know. I’d argue we both ended back where we started.”

Daf worked his jaw and stole a glance around the room. Most of the people weren’t watching him, but a few were. As always.

“Unless something’s happened that I’m not aware of?”

Daf found himself fleeing the younger man’s gaze. He took a long, slow breath. “I’d argue that I’m right to have negative feelings, whether I ended up worse off or not. You put my town at risk and scared everyone there.”

“Then you’ll be happy to put them at ease by announcing our truce.”

Daf raised an eyebrow. “You’re quick.”

“You are, too.” Another teeth-baring smile. Daf could have been reading him wrong, but it didn’t sound like he believed those words.

This time, it was the pirate who stepped back first, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the approaching bar. “So, what do you say, Sheriff?”

A real crowd was starting to collect as people noticed the conversation. A few were even smiling—certain of the outcome, but excited for the chance to watch it play out.

Daf stepped after the pirate, vaguely surprised that he was still stuck on the thought of a truce. It seemed so obviously stupid that Daf knew he was probably still missing something. “Does your truce include the town of Tarriva?” he asked. “Or are you planning to rob them of the resources you failed to take from Hashton?”

Silver eyes glanced over the Tarrivan onlookers. “I’d be happy to negotiate with Tarriva separately,” the man said finally.

Daf felt a swell of satisfaction at backing him into a dead end—both in the conversation, and physically. He stepped forward. The pirate tried to back up again, but his back hit the bar. Daf planted his hands on either side of him, caging him in.

“Tell me your name,” Daf ordered loudly, speaking to the growing crowd as much as to his adversary.

The pirate’s eyes flicked around the room, and as if all his consideration had happened in that fraction of a second, he answered, “Arrokas Rhotar.”

There was a pause.

So Kas was a nickname. Of course, the man could still be lying through his teeth, but if Daf was any judge—and he usually was—it didn’t look like it. This should have made Daf happy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still wrong here…that this wasn’t the victory he’d hoped for.

“I made this really easy for you, Sheriff,” Arrokas said, as if reading his mind. “I walked right in here thinking we could talk. Didn’t think you were the sort to take the cheap shot.”

Daf was dead silent for a long, grating moment as the pirate’s words sunk in. He was keenly aware of the crowd shuffling around him, and wondered if they were questioning his competence. Because Arrokas was right; this had been so easy that Daf wasn’t proving anything. Whatever skills the pirate had used to break his crewmate out had probably not even surfaced here.

“You could give me a head start,” the pirate suggested, eyes glinting.

“Not a chance.”

“Why?” He was raising his voice. Speaking to the crowd like Daf had. “You think I could beat you twice in a row if I got another fair shot?”

Daf didn’t have to look behind him to see the expressions of shock; he could hear the legend tearing. He forced himself to take a breath, wishing he’d ended this conversation before it had drawn attention. “You threw out your fair shot by coming in here,” he said stiffly.

Arrokas shrugged. “I’m not the one who has something to prove.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Daf was here to prove himself. Not to save Tarriva, not to apprehend criminals. He was here in a last-ditch effort to escape his failure.

But that didn’t mean he would let a dangerous man go free just to chase him down for fun. And all the pride in the world didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do.

Arrokas’ expression faltered.

“I’ll give you your fair fight back in Hashton,” Daf said. “Raise your hands, and I won’t have to draw my gun.”

In answer, Arrokas swiped a bottle from the bar and chucked it. Dad raised his arms to block, but the bottle sailed harmlessly over his shoulder and shattered somewhere behind him.

“Daffodil Carter,” a familiar voice sneered. “You can’t even do your job without starting a fight.”